


Red/Blue

by Alessgrosskid (thatonegrosskid)



Series: dead quiet mountain town [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Dealing w/ trauma, F/M, Male Wendy Testaburger | Wendyl Testaburger, Survivor Guilt, Trans Male Character, also trauma, character intro, warning: sort of brief description of child being eaten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 16:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21079622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonegrosskid/pseuds/Alessgrosskid
Summary: He was always the strongest of them, but he couldn't help but feel weak. He should be in his sophomore year, taking AP classes, skipping homecoming to watch shitty movies with his friends and making out with his girlfriend during passing periods. He wasn’t made for the apocalypse, he had to force himself to fit.





	Red/Blue

**Author's Note:**

> kind of an intro to wendy's character in this au. this starts with wendyl at age 11, so if you dont wanna see a child go through trauma maybe skip this.   
also! there is a violent death scene here! i dont think it's super bad (I had to cut it short because I kept tearing up thinking about it), but be warned!

Wendyl ran into the house, beelining for his parents' room, his only thought finding Red. He slammed through the door, gripping the gun Bebe had given him tight in his hands.

Red was gone. His dad was gone. They were nowhere to be seen, his father’s would be death bed empty, but through the pounding in his ears he could hear a wet noise running through the room. He felt his heart stop, stepping silently across the room, until he could see just over the bed. 

Wendyl knew why Bebe had said the disease was dangerous. His mom (who he'd watch leave them just last night) and dad (who inevitable death had weighed on him since), what was left of them at least, were crouched down on the floor shaking, slack jawed, covered in red. Below them, was just a bleeding mess of meat and skin, barely recognizable. He would have thought they had ripped apart a pig, if not for the shock of red hair and shreds of purple jacket. He felt sick. 

He threw up immediately, the acid from his empty stomach burning his throat and bringing unshed tears to his eyes. His parents heads snapped up towards him, skin a sick bluegreen, shocking compared to the deathly pale they’ had been when he left. It was only when they moved towards him, away from the body, that he realized Red was still breathing. 

Wendyl stepped back, shaking. He could feel the gun in his hands, but couldn't bring himself to lift it, even as his parents shambled closer. His eyes moved slowly from them to Red, who could barely look at him with her bright blue eyes. He felt tears slip down his cheeks as silent apologies fell from his lips with shuddering sobs. He would die there, they all would. Him, Red, the shells he knew as his parents. There was no escape.

His eyes still locked with Red's, he heard two loud bangs next to his ear, making him fall to the floor along with his now truly dead parents. He felt Bebe's strong arms pull him away as he watched Red's eyes dim, trembling as he was pushed into the truck while the others gathers supplies from his home, gripping the gun tight in his useless hands, his inability to breath the only thing keeping him from screaming.

Once they're all in the truck, he allows Heidi and Nichole to engulf him, holding him through his racking sobs and silent screams. He had always been the strongest of them, in will, conviction, ethics. But now, riding through silent streets and back alleys, he felt like a child. He was a child. They all were.

When they reached city hall, he was numb, eyes rimmed red along with every other suffering teenager, preteen, child who had watched their loved ones die, be devoured or shot in their newest apocalypse. Looking around, Wendyl could see people doing head counts, brothers and sisters crying on each others shoulders, friends reuniting, lone survivors sobbing in each others arms. South Park had truly reached a new layer of hell.

  
  


Four years since the sickness, four years into madness, Four years and Wendyl still woke in cold sweats, the image of brilliant blue eyes staring into his soul burned into his mind. 

He never slept in their sleeping quarters, was always out in the main areas training and listening until Heidi dragged him off to sleep when he was too exhausted to stop her. He loves her, he does, but sometimes her pretty blue green eyes turn bright blue in his mind and he can't bear to look at her. Can't bear the thought of losing her. Of failing. Being too late again.

So he hunts mercilessly, trains until he cant move, fights to win or die. He was always the strongest of them, but he couldn't help but feel weak. He should be in his sophomore year, taking AP classes, skipping homecoming to watch shitty movies with his friends and making out with his girlfriend during passing periods. He wasn’t made for the apocalypse, he had to force himself to fit. 

When the bullets ran low, he made sure they were trained to fight with melee weapons, his team shining and efficient with bladed and blunt weapons alike. When their hair grew unruly, catching on branches and being snagged by rotting fingers, he made sure it was shaved down, uniform and impeccable. When Nichole had her hands full in their makeshift infirmary, he learned how to set bones and stave off infections, teaching the others so they would never be without a healer. When he almost lost Bebe on a hunt, when he was too stupid to remember to listen for her signal, he made sure they were always within eyesight of at least one of the others, made sure no one would get left behind again. He made sure they were always prepared, always adapting, kept his team as safe as one could be during the end of the world.

They ate together, hunted together, shaved their heads together, always communicating, always knowing, never left the base without backup, knew each other coordinates by rote. For four years they trained and fought and disciplined themselves like no other survivors, the closest thing to elites South Park would ever get. 

They usually stayed in their own base, the only secret base in town. Not even the two rogues could find them and that's how he liked it. Every so often they trekked out to the middle school where Stan and Craig's group shared a base, shared hunts and plans among friends. Sitting around a cafeteria table, guarded from all sides, Heidi sitting across from him, he felt safe. 

But the feeling never lasted long. Time would always run out. They had to go back to base. Go out on food runs. Medical runs. Scouting. There was always danger, they were always running. All he wanted was to keep them all safe. It’s all he could do. 

  
  
  


Wendyl bit his lip, pain flaring down his side as Nichole cleaned his wounds, gripping tight to Heidi’s hand. Some other team (likely the goths) had left a trap out in their hunting grounds, leaving him out of commission while Nichole pulled steel pellets out of his sides. In his place, Bebe was manning the comm radios, alerting the other teams to the traps laid out. He smiled at the loud groan that sounded through the radio when the Goths were reprimanded. 

“Bebe, tell the goths that as soon as I don't have _metal in my_ _ribs, _I’ll be hunting _them _down instead of our usual game.” Wendyl tried to sit up but hissed and fell back down, wincing when Heidi started fussing over him all over again. He had felt worse, but it had been a long while ago. Perks of being the best.

“Wends, please don’t make enemies with the Goths, that short guy’s a good shot,” Bebe jokes, wincing when she realized her finger was still on the little button, “Sorry, Pete- Pe- Pete come on-Hey! Michael! Control your sniper!”

Wendyl could tell Nichole was trying very hard not to laugh and was failing miserably. She tried to whisper through her giggles, “Bebe just hang up! There’s no saving this!”

“Nichole, as funny as we all find this, I’m  _ bleeding. _ ” He reprimanded, hissing when she pulled another from in his skin. At least it was him who got shot and not one of the others. Flesh wounds they may be, but he can't stand letting them get hurt. 

“Sorry, Wends,” She smiled, reaching over to grab the spray analgesia, but Wendyl stopped her.

“Save it for when we need it,” He grimaced, trying to pull the bottle back, “I can handle worse, that won’t always be true.”

Heidi stilled his hand, grabbing the bottle back, “Just because you  _ can  _ handle it, doesn’t mean you should.” She sprayed his side, ignoring his cringe at the feeling before it numbed out. “If you refuse to take care of yourself, I’ll have to do it for you.”

Wendyl frowned, ready to argue when Heidi leaned over to kiss his forehead, smiling against him. He sighed, eyes slipping shit. He mumbled a slow  _ I love you  _ while she was close, feeling her warmth over the heat of his ribs. 

“I love you too, Wends,” She said back, low and sweet, just for him. Then, she reared back, smiling wide, pretty eyes looking into his, “Now let nichole do her job, would you?” 


End file.
